


Life As A Fairy Tale

by MusingsOnBuckyBarnes



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curses, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Saves the Day, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Saves the Day, M/M, Matrimony, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Romantic Jaskier | Dandelion, Sleeping Beauty Elements, True Love, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusingsOnBuckyBarnes/pseuds/MusingsOnBuckyBarnes
Summary: Six months after the break up on the mountain, Jaskier ends up under a curse while being a hero.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 37
Kudos: 320





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my great beta reader, NurseDarry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up to say there is an original character in this fic who was married off by her father to a not-nice man. I don't go into detail as to what the husband was like. By the time this fic starts, the marriage is finally over, and with help from Jaskier the character gets a happy ending.

xXx

It had been six months since Geralt had told Jaskier he didn’t want to see him again. And it still hurt as much as if only six days had passed.

Jaskier was currently staying in a village called Brae. He wanted to head to a town farther along, but it was a long and rough trek on foot, so he was going to join the next caravan of people, hitch a ride with them, and entertain them as they went. But the next caravan wouldn’t leave here until next month.

That was all right though. He had been welcomed at the inn here and the people embraced his songs (even if he was avoiding performing ones like ‘Toss a Coin To Your Witcher’ – they didn’t know he’d written that one). He was also doing odd-job work where needed to get more coin or food, since he couldn’t expect the relatively poor villagers to keep producing money for him over such a period. This place had once had better days, but not these ones.

And he’d made a friend. Marq was a carpenter. They were of a similar age, it turned out, but Marq looked older. He joked about his own appearance: “I’m not bald – I’m just taller than my hair!”

He had bought Jaskier a beer after his second performance in the village. “Thanks for those songs. They really speak to me. For me. I can tell you’ve had your heart broken too.”

That was the thing about men and broken relationships, Jaskier mused. They tended to like to wallow in sad songs instead of listening to cheerful ones to try to lift their spirits. Writing and performing “Her Sweet Kiss” had been very therapeutic. Fortunately, Marq didn’t ask him about his own romantic failures.

Jaskier and the carpenter got on well. Jaskier had told him his stage name and his real name, and that at the moment he preferred to go by Julian. Soon everyone was referring to him as such. After the bruising his ego had taken on the dragon hunt, distancing himself _from_ himself for a while felt like a good idea. Jaskier was glad his Witcher-singing fame had not spread out here.

He tried not to think of where Geralt was and what he was doing and if he was sorry for what he’d said and done. Best not to think of it.

One of the interesting features of the village was an old church of sorts that had been a shrine to a love spirit or some being who was not-a-goddess-but-close. Perhaps even a daughter of Melitele or some linage to her. The spirit had been in residence there – or so it was claimed – but a century or two ago she had vanished, and over time the building had become neglected and closed off, even used for storage.

The local people had recently decided to restore the building as a place of worship or as a community hall (discussions were still underway), and they had asked Marq to check it out. The structure was still surprising solid, and so the carpenter was now examining the interior, seeing what needed to be rebuilt or restored.

Jaskier tagged along, taking in the unusual designs and decorations, and faded but beautiful murals of happy endings and true love and some very interesting and sensuous sexual positions. The old pews and other furniture had been mostly shoved to the sides in stacks. The beautiful, large windows on each side of the church were still somehow intact and had been recently cleaned, bringing in a lot of light and spreading lovely colours around. Which was good, as it saved them having to light a heap of candles and lanterns as they worked.

He couldn’t remember hearing about this particular love spirit before. If the tales the villagers told were true, she had been powerful, but remained local, and people had made pilgrimages to her shrine. Jaskier decided he would see what records and other tales this place had, and also look her up the Oxenfurt library the next time he was there just in case. The spirit’s name had been Ursha. She deserved a ballad.

Marq eventually told him his sad tale. (Jaskier hadn’t reciprocated much yet about his own. He didn’t feel ready.)

Twenty years ago, Marq and a nobleman’s daughter, Albia, had fallen in love. Her father had forced her to marry a well-off man in a far-off city to further his own standing. But the husband wasn’t kind. Marq stayed in his village and remained single, throwing himself into his work and the community. He had heard over the years that his beloved had not had any children in her marriage.

Marq sighed. “I think she’s in Acrie now.” That was a town a few hours’ walk away. “We’d heard tell last week that her husband had died.”

Jaskier looked hopeful. “What are you going to do?”

“Wait to hear more, hear if it’s true.”

“But -” the romantic in Jaskier (98% of him) started to protest.

“I can’t just turn up there, Julian, as much as I’d like to. I need to know first. It was hard enough losing her twenty years ago.” Marq looked upset and frustrated.

Fair enough. But that didn’t mean that Jaskier couldn’t be the one to do the finding out.

At dawn the next morning, he set off for Acrie. He didn’t tell Marq where he was going or why; he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He took his lute. It was a pleasant walk. And hopefully it would be a pleasant task.

In the town square at Acrie, after a drink, he made enquiries about Albia from an elderly washerwoman.

“She’s a widow, now, bard. Her husband died recently, which was a blessing to her and us all!” The woman gestured expansively with her reddened, wrinkled hands, suds flying. “That sour bastard – all that money but he would be unfair with the rents and with paying his bills. His widow is making up for that now. Though she always did try to do things for us without him knowing.”

“I thought she had only moved here recently?”

“Yes, but they visited occasionally as they had rentals here.”

Jaskier acquired Albia’s address easily enough – bards often carried messages from town to town. Soon he was knocking on the door of what was probably the finest house, which looked like it was in the process of being woken from a long slumber. Beige outer walls were being repainted a cheery orange, and window boxes and pots of blooms were being set up in the front garden.

The household was happy to welcome a bard and his lute, always a source of entertainment: music, gossip and news. As he was escorted inside, he saw the same colourful changes there too. When he was introduced to Albia, he saw why Marq had fallen in love with her. She was a pretty, charming woman. And it was clear that her spirit had endured, had risen above the circumstances of her marriage.

A lesson for Jaskier in his own heartbreak?

“My lady, I heard you love music.”

“I do! We all do.”

Albia’s servants clearly adored her, and she encouraged them to stay and listen to Jaskier’s songs after some refreshment had been fetched for the bard. He played several songs to a very receptive audience. 

Then, during a break, Albia asked him where he had travelled from. He replied, “I have been staying in Brae. I have made a friend there who told me about you. Marq the carpenter.”

She immediately reacted to his name, nearly leaping out of her chair. “Marq? He’s still there? He’s all right?”

And Jaskier could see the feelings well up in her. The love had not died. Within a few minutes of Jaskier’s explanation, Albia was organising for her carriage to be readied.

“I must go to him. Even if he no longer feels love for me, I must see him again.”

“My lady, his love has never dimmed.”

True love. It was wonderful to see.

A maidservant quickly packed some bags, and she boarded the carriage with Jaskier and Albia. A male servant sat up front with the driver.

Albia asked, “What does Marq look like now, Julian? Greying hair, like me? Balding, like his father?”

“Balding, but still sexy. He told me he wasn’t bald, just taller than his hair.”

Albia let out a delighted laugh. Then she looked apprehensively out the window and fidgeted with the brooch on her travel cloak and her long braid of hair.

To distract her from her worrying, Jaskier told her as much as he could about Marq and the village, and sang a few songs. She asked about his own life.

Then silence one again took over, until Albia suddenly said, “I endured and now I am going to really live.” It was more of a vow, and Jaskier deeply admired her for that.

xXx

In his workshop, Marq looked up from the chair he was making and smiled when Jaskier stepped inside. “Hey, Julian! Want to meet at the inn for dinner? Otherwise I can cook some bacon and eggs.”

Jaskier remained near the open doorway. “Actually, you have other dinner plans.”

The carpenter gave him a baffled look, which changed to shock and astonishment as Albia came into view. “Albia?”

“Marq!”

From opposite ends of the room, they rushed towards each other at the same time. They met in the middle and somehow managed not to knock the other over on impact. They hugged and cried and pulled back a little to stare and repeated each other’s names as if still not sure the other was there.

Smiling and a little teary himself, Jaskier discretely exited and left them to it before any explanations or kissing started. As much as he would love to see the whole reunion and write a fantastic song about it, he had to respect their privacy. And he could _still_ write a wonderful ballad from it.

The bard escorted Albia’s maid to Marq’s porch and chatted with her there while Albia’s other servants saw to the horse and carriage.

It was good, it felt so very, very good to do something right and ballad-worthy and happy-making. He’d write a song as his wedding present to them. Potential lines were already forming in his head. Several songs actually. One about the lovers and their tale. One about how grand love could be. It would be good to write something happy again.

Eventually, Marq and Albia joined them on the porch. The couple were holding hands and looked as though they had tried to catch up on at least five years of missed kisses. Both had what must be tears of joy in their eyes.

They let go of each other for long enough to give Jaskier hugs.

“You’re our miracle worker,” Marq said.

“It’s an honour to be of service to such a beautiful couple.”

Albia asked, “How can we help you?”

If only they could get Geralt and him back together again.

“Be happy,” Jaskier replied.

xXx

A week passed. Marq and Albia were flourishing together. She was staying at his home, and no one in the village was frowning over it, even those with more old-fashioned ideas. A lot of them had known Albia from their youth and were glad their love had received a second chance. Plus, Albia was also bringing her wealth and generosity to the people, giving the school new books and helping the poor. She and Marq were talking about whether to remain in the village after they married or if they would travel. The wedding would take place as soon as possible.

Jaskier was going for his morning walk around the village. The sun was shining, the sky was a bright blue, and he was whistling. His lute was back in his room. He felt a lot better about things now. Perhaps he’d turned a corner in his own healing. He would miss this place and his friends when he travelled onwards. But he’d call in on them or write when he could.

Then abruptly there was a horrible, inhuman shriek from somewhere. Jaskier looked around in alarm, as did nearby villagers. An odd black cloud appeared, low and churning over the old church. An eerie light was shining out of the church’s windows.

That sort of thing was never a good sign. Something supernatural was going down.

_Oh shit._ Marq and Albia were in there. He knew they were. Marq was still working inside. They had wanted to get married in there. Albia wanted to restore the murals…

Jaskier ran to the open doorway and cautiously looked inside.

A mass of light was hovering in the middle of the sanctuary. It was luminous, but also in some way dark. His friends were together, backed against a pillar, alive but frightened, holding each other.

What seemed to be a female face appeared in the swirl of light. “You have stolen from me!” The face did have a female voice, a powerful, echoing and odd one.

Was this the original spirit of the temple? It didn’t seem very loving. But then again, love could be cruel…

Marq protested, “I just found it when I was cleaning up, under some tiles!” He glanced down at something on the floor between them and the spirit. It looked like a jewel.

“Please -” Albia began. “He didn’t mean it; he didn’t realise. You can have it back.”

“Liars!” The cloud of light churned. The face turned to gaze fully at Marq. “I will punish you. I will _curse_ you!”

_No. Oh no,_ Jaskier thought. This spirit, creature, god, whatever was NOT going to ruin his hard work and his friends’ happiness. They didn’t deserve this.

Albia was trying to place herself before Marq to protect him or to take whatever the spirit was about to unleash. He was trying to stop her. They and the spirit had not noticed Jaskier.

Long experience with creatures and strange beings had taught Jaskier a lot, including how Geralt had bargained with some. This being was clearly not going to accept that a genuine mistake had been made. In fact, it looked like she was going to now take out her wrath on both the lovers, not just Marq. So… Not letting himself dwell on just what the curse could involve, Jaskier strode into the building, calling, “Hey! Take me instead! Spare them, please.”

The woman of light turned to him, seemingly surprised but impressed. She tilted her head and studied him. Considering.

Albia was horrified. “No!”

“Julian, no!” Marq yelled.

The spirit’s aura flared. “Agreed!”

Before anyone could say or do anything further, she threw a blaze of light at Jaskier. It hit and gripped him.

Albia and Marq looked and him in despair and dread. But when he looked at them, he felt relief and hope.

There was a chance…

As he felt the curse take hold, whatever it was, Jaskier tried to tell his friends: “Get Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher! Or Yennefer of Vengerberg!”

But with the noise of the surging magic and from the looks on their faces, he realised they probably couldn’t hear the names properly. He opened his mouth to try again but it was too late. And he hadn’t mentioned Geralt or Yennefer’s names to his friends before.

_Fuck…_

As he fell to the floor and his body seized up and stiffened, Jaskier only had time for the bizarre thought of how strange it was that his last words were about _Yennefer_. Terror and blackness took hold, and the final, desperate flicker of hope that Geralt would somehow find and save him.

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem quoted in this chapter was by Sara Teasdale (1884-1933).  
> I also borrowed some lines and a situation from a fic I wrote years ago under another name, in another fandom, on another social media site (more on that in future chapter notes).

xXx

Geralt of Rivia was miserable. But, of course, he was doing his best not to admit it or show it, least of all to himself.

He had his ‘blessed silence’. He had his old life back, travelling around the Continent with Roach, looking for jobs to keep him in coin. But it seemed very empty now. And he felt guilty.

He tried to reason with himself. As long as Jaskier and Yennefer were alive and safe, it didn’t matter if they were angry at him. It didn’t matter at all. They were safer away from him.

Though Geralt had seen Yennefer again after the dragon hunt. She had approached him at an inn to inform him that she was getting close to breaking the djinn wish, and that she would fetch him when it became time to complete the spell. It was clear from that interaction that their relationship was over, but for now they could be professional with each other, a mage and a Witcher discussing business, and perhaps eventually they might settle into a friendship. Their meeting had been brief enough that Yennefer hadn’t asked where Jaskier was, to Geralt’s relief, or perhaps she had heard their final argument.

And then there was the matter of the child surprise. Geralt sighed. If he couldn’t even keep a friendship – how could he hope to become a father? Especially to a young girl. Again, he was doing the smarter thing by staying out of the princess’s life.

His thoughts went back to Jaskier, how Jaskier had talked about going to the coast. A conversation where the more Geralt thought about it, the more Jaskier had actually revealed, had opened his heart, but the more he himself had dismissed it. He hadn’t answered the bard’s request. He’d spent the night with Yennefer instead, then left Jaskier behind while facing the dragon.

Had Jaskier gone to the coast? Was he doing what pleased him? 

A poem or pieces from a song came to his mind. Jaskier hadn’t written them; Geralt remembered them from many decades ago, but the bard may have performed them at some point. They reminded Geralt of him now.

_Strephon kissed me in the spring,_ _  
_ _Robin in the fall,_ _  
_ _But Colin only looked at me_ _  
_ _And never kissed at all._ _  
  
_

_Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,_ _  
_ _Robin’s lost in play,_ __  
_But the kiss in Colin’s eyes_ _  
_ _Haunts me night and day._

Geralt’s jaw tightened. He would have to stop thinking like this.

He heard that someone was under a curse in a nearby village. Not many details, though at least it didn’t sound like a striga. He could really do without one of those for a very, very long time. And there was a sizeable reward. Still, it all depended on what the curse was.

The distraction and the money would be very welcome.

When he rode into the village, people weren’t looking at him with apprehension. They had expressions of hope and relief.

“It’s a Witcher! He can help Julian! Thank you for coming. This way, Master Witcher, please.”

As he went through the village and noticed some empty, boarded-up buildings, it seemed strange that the people here could afford to have offered such a large reward. Then again, that reward could just be hearsay or an exaggeration. He hadn’t actually seen a notice about it, just had word-of-mouth.

Geralt was led to a shrine or church. Whatever it was, it looked very old, but solid. He dismounted from Roach and tied her to a hitching post. Before he could go in, a man and woman he guessed to be in their forties made their way through the assembling folk. The woman had to be gentry by her clothing, but the man was in work clothes.

“It’s such a relief to see you, sir!” said the man. “Please save Julian.”

“What happened? Where is he?”

The man and the woman were holding hands. The woman nodded at the shrine. “He’s in there. A spirit was going to curse Marq because of a misunderstanding – she wouldn’t listen…” She and the man exchanged anguished looks. “So our friend offered to take his place. The spirit turned him into a statue! He’s been like that for a month.”

Geralt frowned. He didn’t know if he could break a curse like that, but he would have a look, though he’d probably need to contact Yennefer or another mage for help or advice. And people who sacrificed themselves for others deserved to be saved, if possible. At least this man hadn’t been turned into a violent monster.

“Where is the spirit now? And what sort of spirit?”

The woman said, “We don’t know where she is. This was once a place of worship of her. She was a love spirit, but she didn’t seem like it when we saw her. She disappeared when she cursed Julian, and no one has seen her since. She hadn’t been seen here for a very long time until Marq found a jewel that must have belonged to her. That’s what made her angry; she thought he stole it. Now she and the jewel are gone.”

That was a pity. The jewel might have been able to summon the being again.

The woman continued, “Marq and I were hoping to get married in there. Julian was – is – going to be our best man.”

Marq nodded at the woman and said, “Albia posted the reward, and we sent out all the messages for help we could.”

Geralt went into the shrine, followed by the couple. As he entered, he took in a quick but thorough look, then focused in on two things. There was someone tending to a side altar. From her clothing, she was an elderly nun or holy woman, who looked up at them as they approached. Her eyes were shrewd and appraising – which was fair enough, since the place had recently received a visit from an actual spirit and a curse. And now a Witcher. Geralt intended to ask her questions about the spirit.

On an altar in the middle of the room was what appeared to be a statue of a man lying down. It resembled a tomb effigy. There were flowers lying around the sides of the altar, like offerings or tributes: roses, buttercups, and more. There were other objects too.

Geralt approached the statue. It looked like a very skilled carving of a sleeping or dead man. A man who looked very much like -

Jaskier…

It couldn’t be. The hair was longer. But that face -

Then Geralt saw the distinctive neck of Jaskier’s lute, jutting up amongst the offerings near the statue’s feet.

Geralt sprang forwards and pushed aside the flowers in his way. “Jaskier!” He touched the statue’s head.

What was Jaskier doing here?

His warm, alive, always-in-motion, noisy bard – reduced to this. Cold stone. Silent.

Gradually, over his shock, Geralt realised he could hear a noise.

A heartbeat. So very slow, so very long a pause between each one. But it was there. Coming from the statue.

Could Jaskier hear him? Could Jaskier sense what was going on? Was he aware while trapped in stone? Screaming to be let out but not heard?

Trying to take a moment to gather himself and marshal his thoughts, Geralt sank to his knees beside the plinth, at Jaskier’s side.

“I’ll find a way to fix this, Jaskier. I promise. I’m so sorry.” If he hadn’t sent Jaskier away this wouldn’t have happened to him. So much for Jaskier being safe.

Albia asked quietly, with surprise, “You know Julian?”

“Yes, he was my bard. My friend.” Everything. Why could he only say it now, after so long, and when Jaskier was probably beyond hearing him? “How long have you known him?”

Marq replied, “Not long, but it feels like we’ve always been friends. Albia and I had been apart for twenty years and he helped us to reunite. Then he took the curse for us.”

Typical Jaskier. Geralt wanted to both castigate and tell him how much he admired him. But he couldn’t. Jaskier was right here but out of reach.

Then an odd feeling settled over the Witcher. Something was happening. He looked back over his shoulder at Marq and Albia, who were standing there, not moving or talking or even apparently breathing. Like statues made out of flesh. A butterfly that had risen from the flowers caught Geralt’s eye – it was hovering in mid-air. His enhanced senses could see that its wings were moving, but so very slowly.

Someone or something had slowed down time. But it wasn’t affecting him.

Geralt heard the someone approach. He looked over at the foot of the plinth and the nun stood there, watching him.

And Geralt realised this was no nun. It was the spirit, expending a lot of energy into her disguise, so well done that it had fooled him until now. Or perhaps he’d been too distracted.

“You. You did this to him.”

“Yes,” she replied. Her voice sounded fairly human, but with an odd undercurrent. “I was under a curse too. Now I am myself again. I am Ursha. Julian – your Jaskier – his sacrifice for his friends, for their love, freed me. But not in time to save him.”

“Bullshit. Undo this!”

“Don’t you think I would have if I could have? The poor, brave man. I owe him my freedom. But I cannot lift this curse.”

“You’re fucking able to slow down _time_! Or pull us outside of it – whatever you’ve doing. And you put him under this spell in the first place! You must be able to break it.”

“I cannot; but _you can_.”

“How?”

“Love is a very powerful and true thing. Especially between the two of you.”

“What?”

She just stared at him like he was being very obtuse.

Geralt clenched his jaw. He tried to stay patient, to not yell. She probably wanted him to play some stupid game or answer a riddle, undergo some test or ask questions for vague answers. He would do whatever it took. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t frustrate the hell out of him in the process.

Jaskier lay there, entrapped, entombed. He looked the way he had when he’d been asleep under Yennefer’s spell, healing from the djinn’s attack. At least then Geralt had been able to see him breathing deeply. This was far worse.

Before trying to get more answers out of the spirit, Geralt leaned over and rested his forehead against the statue’s own. Then he impulsively kissed Jaskier on the forehead.

There was a sparkling. The air around Jaskier shone. Geralt could feel it tingle.

Then, kneeling there, so close, he saw a shimmering surround Jaskier. Not daring to move, Geralt watched stone turn to skin and to hair and cloth, and then Jaskier started to breathe again. His heartbeat increased to that of its normal sleep rate. The glow faded.

“Jaskier?” Geralt wasn’t imagining it. Jaskier’s chest was rising and falling – Geralt felt it under his hand and noticed a vein throbbing in the bard’s throat. “Jaskier!”

Jaskier was no longer a statue. But he wouldn’t wake up.

Geralt looked beseechingly at the spirit.

She said, “I spoke the truth when I said that I cannot bring him back. Not fully. _You_ can.”

For fuck’s sake… Were spirits incapable of straight answers? “But _how_?”

She smiled. “In such circumstances, the sleeping beauty is awakened with true love’s kiss, which I believe needs to be administered a little lower down than your first attempt.”

Geralt almost said, _That was an accident, not an attempt!_ But now was not the time to quibble about technicalities.

His head thought that, but his heart was still struggling to catch up with Ursha’s comment, the shock of it. True love. He could break the curse through true love. That meant…

She said, “True love is true love.” She looked at him closely. “I don’t think you’re panicking over the fact that you’re both men. If Jaskier didn’t love you in _that_ way, the forehead kiss wouldn’t have worked. It would have been _unrequited love_ instead. There’s a large difference.”

“But… But Jaskier loves _everyone_. That’s just the way he is.” Geralt had kept telling himself that, to try not to let himself get hurt. Hell, he’d guarded his heart so strictly that he hadn’t even called Jaskier his _friend_. Even though deep down he’d known how much he cared for Jaskier and how much Jaskier cared for him. It hadn’t seemed possible. Not with Jaskier being Jaskier, and Geralt being a Witcher who couldn’t show his emotions properly, even denying that he had them.

Ursha shook her head and said, “He loves everyone, like a puppy. But the one _he fell in love with and stayed in love with_ was and is you. Treasure that. Don’t throw it away.”

For a moment, Geralt hesitated, stunned and hoping. Then there was no uncertainty, just determination. He leaned down and kissed Jaskier fully on the lips. Slowly, Geralt pulled back to wait and silently panic.

Jaskier shifted slightly and his eyes slowly opened. He looked up at Geralt, dazed but with clear recognition.

Staring down at him from scant inches away, hand cupping the bard’s cheek, Geralt smiled. He felt faint with relief. It had worked. It had actually worked. True love.

Jaskier was pale but at least not the pallid marble or grey stone. And his eyes were as vivid grey-blue as ever.

“Jaskier, it’s all right. You’re safe.”

“Where…?” The bard’s voice sounded thick and clumsy, like he was learning how to use it again.

“We’re in Brae. You were cursed, but it’s broken now.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “My friends!”

Trust Jaskier to think that first, over concern for himself. It was one of the many things that Geralt loved about him. And also what drove him insane.

Ursha answered him. “They are together. Your actions saved them. They will be happy to see you are restored.”

Geralt realised that Jaskier couldn’t see Marq and Albia at the moment because Geralt’s own armoured bulk was blocking his view. Jaskier tried to sit up. Geralt stood and helped him come up slowly, but Jaskier struggled and said, “Geralt, I can’t move properly…” He could hold his neck up but his hands flopped around. His eyes were wide with alarm.

Supporting the bard against his side, embracing him, Geralt glared at the spirit.

She replied with nun-like calm, “Jaskier, you will be fine. You were a living statue for a month, and you are experiencing aftereffects of that. Over the next few days you will have some problems with your hands and legs, and exhaustion, and perhaps with your voice, as your body readapts to normal. The problems will not be permanent. You may become feverish but it will pass.” She then addressed Geralt, instructing him what herbs and potions to administer when that happened.

“And lots of tender touches and massages will help. A chance for your Witcher to show how good of a nurse he can be. I will hold my festival when you are recovered.”

Geralt managed to sit on the plinth in a way that he could hold Jaskier in his arms, since Jaskier was still dazed and weak from his ordeal. And because Geralt didn’t want to let him go in a hurry.

Jaskier still hadn’t noticed his frozen friends yet, partly due to the angle Geralt was holding him. Also, his focus was still on the supposed-nun, and Geralt thought his eyes were probably still adjusting to being restored as well, from the way he was squinting a bit. Jaskier asked, “Your festival?”

“Yes. You and Geralt and your friends will be the guests of honour.” She gave a wry smile. “As will I.”

Geralt saw Jaskier’s confusion. “Jaskier, this lady isn’t really a nun. This is Ursha. She was the spirit that cursed you.” He felt Jaskier tense in his embrace. “But she was under a curse too. So when you sacrificed yourself for your friends, that broke the enchantment she was under. You freed her. People used to worship her here.”

“So she then freed me? But you said I’ve been like this for a month?”

Ursha nodded. “Geralt broke your curse. I could not.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt. “How did you break the curse?”

“I, um, the old-fashioned way.”

Blank look.

“I … kissed you.”

Incredulous look.

Ursha said, “Not just any kiss. True love’s kiss! He’s still getting used to that fact.” She sounded amused.

Jaskier stared at Geralt then at Ursha then back again. “So, he …? We…?”

The Witcher and the spirit both replied at the same time. “Yes.”

“That’s… That’s quite something.” Jaskier looked stunned, then delighted then irritated. “I slept through our first kiss? Or most of it. That’s not fair!”

Trust Jaskier to think of that and not about how they had parted on the mountain. Speaking of which… The words echoed from that day, the bard’s hurt voice saying, _Well, that’s not fair._

Geralt didn’t wait another second. “Jaskier, I need you to know how sorry I am. For what I said and did, not just on the mountain, but during the years. I never called you my friend – you _are_ , but you’re so much more than that.”

Jaskier replied sleepily, “I’m sorry too – I should have given you some space. And you have the next week – and years to come – to show me how much I mean to you.”

“I will.”

The spirit looked delighted. Then she said, “Let’s bring the world back in. Manipulating time is not something I can do for too long. It’s too much of a strain. And it’s not really encouraged amongst my kind. I won’t be able to do it again for a while.”

Time was brought back to its normal speed or they were put back into it.

There was a pause as Marq and Albia blinked and breathed again, then tried to comprehend how suddenly the scene had gone from a Witcher and a statue to a Witcher and their living friend.

Ursha called out, loudly enough for anyone just outside the church to also hear: “The curse has been broken!”

Albia said, “Julian! Oh, Julian!” in delight and relief, crying and kissing and hugging him. Marq did the same. Geralt even received a hug somewhere in there, though he assumed it was a stray one, made in the excitement of the moment.

The spirit, still in her nun persona, issued orders to the village people who were now cautiously entering the church. “Great wonders have happened here today. The curse has been broken by true love’s kiss. The brave bard is whole again, but needs to recover from his ordeal. He and his lover, the Witcher, will need a place to stay while he does so. Prepare the Krist cottage for them.”

She rattled off requirements like food, firewood, bedding, and provisions for Roach. Villagers rushed off to do as she asked.

_His lover._ They’d only kissed the once. So far. But what a kiss.

How could Geralt live up to that kiss?

Geralt was still holding Jaskier in a sitting position against his torso. He didn’t want to let go yet, or ever. Jaskier’s friends were chatting away happily.

Jaskier had just found out that Albia and Marq hadn’t married yet and was surprised.

Marq replied, “We were too busy trying to find someone to break the curse on you. And it didn’t feel right to get married when you were like that.”

“I honestly wouldn’t have minded, but thank you.”

“You’ll be there at the wedding, our best man!”

A few minutes later, it was clear that Jaskier’s energy was fading. He was falling asleep against Geralt’s chest, his head cradled in the curve of Geralt’s neck and shoulder. It felt like he belonged there. Someone handed the Witcher a blanket, and Marq helped him wrap Jaskier in it.

Geralt asked Marq, “How far is it to the cottage?”

“Not far. Just down the road. Do you want me to help carry him?”

“No, thank you. I can manage.”

Even when he wasn’t a statue, Jaskier was no lightweight, but at the moment Geralt just wanted to carry him, himself.

Albia nodded. “I’ll bring his lute.”

Ursha told Geralt, “Jaskier is your destiny. He taught you how to open your heart, as a friend and as a lover. That will help when you both meet with your other destiny.” The nun’s final orders to Geralt were: “Tuck him in from the inside.”

“For every night from now on,” Geralt promised. It was a wonderful vow to be able to give and mean.

The villagers were eager to help. Geralt realised that Ursha wasn’t pulling strings. They were close and cared a lot for Albia and Marq and their apparent long-awaited love story, and for Jaskier as a friend and for what he had done. They wanted to assist and to say thank you. Plus, having a shrine with an actual goddess (or whatever Ursha actually was) in residence would be an economic boon for the place.

Geralt picked up the sleeping Jaskier in a bridal carry, cocooned in his blanket. Over the shoulder may have been easier, but the journey wasn’t far, and Geralt wanted to be able to _see_ Jaskier’s face. Feel his breath on his neck. He needed to.

When Geralt stepped out into the light, it felt like a hundred years had passed. But he was now a different person to the one who had entered the shrine.

He was happy. He had Jaskier.

And he had hope. Or more than hope. He had true love. He’d had it for quite a while, really, but now he _knew_ it.

Here was Roach, who came up eagerly to nuzzle at Jaskier’s hair and Geralt’s shoulder. “Yes, Roach – we’ve got him back. We’re keeping him for good.”

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

xXx

With the sleeping Jaskier safely held in his arms, Geralt turned to Marq. “Where’s the nearest stable to the cottage?”

“Right next to it, literally. Part of it. It’s a byre house. The owners moved away and it hasn’t been sold yet. It has some furniture in it, because they were hoping to lease it out.”

Perfect. The Witcher gave the order to Roach that she was to come, and so she made no protest when Marq untied her lead rope and led her along the street close to her owner. Marq then took the horse around to the stable section, while Albia showed Geralt into the main part of the house.

The cottage was one main room, with a large bed at one end, plus a kitchen area with a stove, huge sink, table and chairs and a fireplace with armchairs near it. The wall opposite the bed was mostly made up of four quarter panels of doors that could be opened as necessary into the stable. So the top quarters could be opened for Roach to stick her head into the room to keep an eye on her humans. There was also a door leading off to a privy.

The villagers had been efficient and busy. Geralt looked around the room in astonishment.

There were comfortable night shirts. A basket of food and drink. A few books. Two women were finishing making up the bed, with quick movements. It looked very comfortable. There was a pile of extra blankets. A fire was being lit in the big grate and wood was quickly stacked nearby.

Geralt lowered Jaskier along the bottom section of the big bed, so he could take off the bard’s clothes and boots, pull down the covers and put him to bed more easily.

Albia received the keys from one of the women, then she handed them to Geralt. “We’ll bring in a hot meal for you both around dusk. I’ll make sure that Julian – Jaskier – gets a good soup, since we better build him back up to solids.”

“After I WAS a solid, so to speak.” Even half-asleep, Jaskier couldn’t resist a bad joke. Being cursed hadn’t helped his sense of punning.

Geralt gave a mocking sigh and also gave his bard an affectionate look that said: _How on this earth did I fall in love with a man with your sense of humour?_

They grinned at each other. Then Jaskier gazed around and was confused about where they were, until Geralt explained.

Albia asked Geralt, “Is there any meal in particular that you’d like, or that you don’t like?”

“Anything that doesn’t try to escape off the plate is fine. Thank you.”

“If there’s anything else you need, let us know.”

Geralt felt that he really did have everything he needed.

Jaskier’s friends and the other villagers departed. The bard was asleep again. After tucking Jaskier in, Geralt, ran a hand gently through his hair and on to his forehead. Jaskier stirred a little, then settled. He wasn’t running a temperature. Yet.

Geralt reluctantly left his side to explore the room properly. And at least he could always turn around and look at Jaskier, to easily check on him. And Roach was content.

Geralt examined the large basket of food and after giving Roach an apple from it, he quickly devoured a good amount of the contents, including cheese and bread. Much better than a lot of inn meals. He washed it down with some reasonable ale, which probably was from the local tavern. While eating, he sat where he could watch Jaskier. It was strange but nice to be able to relax in a place which was much bigger than a room at an inn.

The Witcher tended to the fire and examined the titles of the books. One was of collected popular poetry. He looked over the contents of the well-stocked medical chest and hoped it wouldn’t be needed. He had brought in his saddlebags and tended to his swords and tears in his armour. He went into the stable and brushed Roach, while keeping the doors open and positioning himself so he could keep up his Jaskier-watch.

An hour later, Jaskier made unhappy noises in his sleep. He woke when Geralt hurried over to him.

“You’re safe. I’m here.”

Jaskier took a deep, relieved breath. “Lying on my back like this… Like when I was a statue… Can you please move me onto my side? I think I’d feel more comfortable.”

Geralt helped him so that he was lying so he could see most of the room, then stroked his back while his breathing calmed down.

“How are your hands?”

“A bit numb.”

Geralt sat in a chair next to the bed and took Jaskier’s hands in his, rubbing them with his fingers. “It will pass.”

There was silence for a few minutes while Geralt did that. Then Jaskier spoke. “At least we don’t have to wonder or worry or misunderstand about each other’s feelings anymore.”

True love’s kiss. “Hmm.”

Jaskier stared at him. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt hesitated. “I’m glad. I’m just… You deserve someone who can make poems and ballads for you.”

“I can do that myself.”

“Someone who can tell you how much you mean to them. You love words.”

“You SHOW me. And how you look at me. And when you say something… Well, that makes it mean all the more.” He paused. “It is good when you do try to use your words, though. The ones you really _mean_. If you try to do that a bit more, Geralt, I’ll be grateful.”

“All right.”

Jaskier continued, “How many people in this life get a second chance? Albia and Marq are so lucky that they get to be together now. The same for us. True love doesn’t happen every day. Or happy fairy tale endings.”

“I really am sorry for what I said it you on the mountain.” He gently squeezed Jaskier’s hands.

“Good. Don’t do it again.” The bard gazed at him, completely serious. “And I won’t go blundering in on times when you clearly need to be left alone to cool down.”

Geralt nodded, then bent down to kiss his fingers, to seal the vow. Jaskier gave a shiver that was nothing to do with a chill, and looked delighted.

Jaskier said, “I remember a bit about that kiss – a tingling through my body. Being able to breathe properly again.” He then reached out to put his hand behind Geralt’s head, to pull him towards him, while gazing at him intently.

Geralt was worried their second first kiss might not live up to it without the inclusion of magic. But he put his hand to the side of Jaskier’s face and bought his lips to the bard’s. It was sweet and quickly turned sexy. All the years of longing and anticipation, and from Jaskier’s look and heart rate, he felt about to keel over in delight. Geralt could empathise. His heart was doing some crazy things too.

How had they managed to wait this long? Perhaps because they were both idiots.

After some very pleasant kissing, Geralt reluctantly left the bedside to tend to the fire. Jaskier tried to stand up himself but did so too quickly and before Geralt realised what he was attempting. Jaskier ended up in a cursing heap on the floor. Geralt helped him over to an armchair near the fire and made sure he was warm enough and he rubbed Jaskier’s legs. Then he sat in another armchair.

“How did you find me here?” the bard asked.

“Possibly destiny,” Geralt allowed. “And I heard there was someone who had been cursed in this village. They’d been very thorough in sending out notices far and wide, it seems, and spreading the word. There was a huge reward – well, I haven’t confirmed it yet, but I think it is correct.”

“How huge?”

Geralt told him.

Jaskier squeaked in surprise. “That’s… That IS large.”

“It sounds like Albia was determined to spend whatever it took if it meant you were freed. I know the feeling. And I’m tempted to tell you off – what were you thinking, taking on a curse like that? Did you have any idea what it was? I’m tempted to spank you, but I think you’d enjoy that too much.”

Jaskier gave a saucy smile and poked out a pale tongue.

xXx

Albia and Marq dropped by with the promised dinner and more things that they might require. There were even two pairs of men’s slippers. The slippers were a little big on Geralt, but there were also thick, very comfortable socks that sorted out that problem. Had he had slippers as a child? He couldn’t remember. Certainly not since then.

Jaskier was back in bed by that time, so Geralt wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, propped him up on pillows and fed him the soup. In-between Jaskier made comments about how cute Geralt was in the slippers and how the domesticated look suited him. Geralt grouched a bit, but the slippers and socks really were comfortable.

It was the first time he’d had a proper home as an adult. The closest he’d had was Kaer Morhen. To be settled down somewhere, comfortable, with a community as large as this was so different for him. And welcome. Even if just for a few weeks. He and Jaskier would have to discuss it, what their plans would be. The coast? Then check in on Cirilla?

After going into the stable-section to tend to Roach, Geralt made sure everything was secure, then decided an early night was a good thing after the day’s events.

He and Jaskier had shared beds before. But this… It felt wonderful to get into bed with him and settle down beside him and be able to spoon, to touch. A goodnight kiss. Jaskier in his arms. A Jaskier who didn’t have an undelivered kiss in his eyes anymore, like in the poem. The kiss had been given, released, and plenty more were to come.

Geralt had started the day feeling miserable and ended it happier than he’d ever thought possible.

xXx

During the night, Geralt woke up. He realised that Jaskier’s heartbeat and breathing had changed. Fever was taking hold.

Ursha the love spirit had predicted this, but it still wasn’t fair. Not to Jaskier. And not to Geralt either. Why couldn’t they have had the bliss and happiness of even one morning of waking up in each other’s arms? Didn’t they deserve that?

And he hated Jaskier being ill. It wasn’t like the Witcher could ride in and slay the fever.

To Geralt, Jaskier was just as mysterious a creature as the ones he encountered in his job and travels. How was it possible for someone to be so extroverted, exuberant and in love with life and everyone in it? So friendly? So optimistic? To see a big, scary man and go up and ask him for song critique then not run away when realising it was a Witcher?

How did this human manage to get him to agree to bodyguard him all those years ago while in idiotic clothes Jaskier had insisted he wear (the jacket had a pattern of tiny flowers on it, for fuck’s sake), for free, and rein him in with one pleading look? Geralt was over ten decades old, and he’d never come across anyone like this before.

As for Geralt falling in love with Jaskier, well, some things weren’t all that mysterious. How could he not?

And now the bard was sick.

Geralt went into nurse-mode. He gave Jaskier medicine to hopefully reduce his temperature and got as much water in to him as possible, as often as possible. He wiped Jaskier’s forehead and face with damp cloths, and ran a hand gently through his hair or down his cheek to soothe him. He tried to make sure that there weren’t too many blankets on the bed so he didn’t overheat and also that the room wasn’t cold. Geralt even found himself humming and softly singing to Jaskier. Whatever it took to get him through this.

As the morning progressed, Jaskier wasn’t a still, silent statue but now he was sweating, hot and babbling, his talent with words flung aside again by fate.

Albia and Mark delivered more meals and the local healer came with potions. When Geralt wasn’t sitting at the bedside he was pacing or patting Roach through the half-doors or absently eating.

Later that day, the fever broke, leaving Jaskier alive but weakened again. At least he still had all his wits about him – fortunately, his temperature hadn’t become dangerously high, just damn uncomfortable at its peak.

Geralt gave Jaskier a sponge bath to get the sweat and sickness off him, then resettled him into the bed. Jaskier was too tired to make any jokes about it. There was a grateful look in his eyes.

“Here, you need to drink some more.” Geralt gave him medicine and water.

The bard pulled a wry face. “You’re trying to drown me.”

“You’ll be back to swigging Est Est soon enough.”

Jaskier was not looking inclined to fall asleep just yet, because he was a stubborn bastard. So, Geralt filled him in on village news and gossip, then suggested, “I could read to you – my voice isn’t that good at it, but -”

Jaskier cut him off. “I love your voice. That low, sexy rumble. It does things to me. Always has. It produces _vibrations_.”

Geralt found he enjoyed reading to Jaskier.

And the next morning, he was able to wake up with Jaskier in his arms, pale but convalescing, happy in his embrace.

“Mmmm, this is veeeeeeeeeeeeeeery nice,” Jaskier commented, stretching like a sun-warmed cat.

“Good. Get used to it.”

“Oh, I definitely intend to.”

Geralt rested their foreheads together, and they gave each other little conspiratorial grins, knowing that soon enough they would get to express their love in another way too.

xXx

Geralt didn’t like leaving Jaskier, but spending all his time in one cottage and stable also wasn’t ideal, so with Jaskier’s encouragement (and with Marq or Albia keeping the bard company), Geralt would take Roach out for a ride or go for a walk. It was easier to do the stronger Jaskier became.

It was so strange, but nice, to be out and about in the village and have people greet him cheerfully, like a friend, and ask him about Jaskier.

On one of these walks, Geralt called in on Albia. He found her and her maids and a few village men and women busy sewing wedding clothing. Geralt was welcomed, told to sit and make himself at home, and a servant would fetch him a drink.

The bride-to-be held up a white shirt with gold and silver embroidery of flowers and musical notes down its front. “This is for Jaskier to wear. We’ve been working on it for weeks.”

“Even when he was a statue?”

“Yes. We had to have hope that a way would be found to break the curse.”

Geralt said, “Thank you for doing that. For not giving up on him.”

“It’s what he deserved. We’ll make a shirt for you too.”

“I’d marry him in sack cloth.”

“I know, but you don’t have to.” Albia revealed her plans. A design of miniature horses, wolves and musical notes. It sounded nice, and Geralt said so.

He then asked, “So, you and Marq were apart for around twenty years?”

“Yes. And the two of you were friends for around the same time?”

He nodded. “Even if I was an idiot and didn’t admit it.”

There was no judgement on her face. Instead, she said, “We’re all making up for lost time now. I don’t intend to waste a single day.”

“A very good idea.”

“Some of the villagers want to put statues in the shrine about what happened. Including a replica of Jaskier as Sleeping Beauty…” Albia looked like she didn’t consider that a good idea.

Geralt agreed. “I don’t think he’d like that – a reminder of being entombed by the curse. Perhaps a small statue of the three of you, all fine and upstanding?”

After that visit, Geralt went to the church, where he had quite a conversation with the love spirit.

xXx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbetaed, as my beta is having a hectic time in real life. When it does get checked, I'll come back and tweak. 
> 
> I like giving my favourite characters a chance to be domestic, and I like to show recovery/recuperation-from-ordeal scenes, as often shows leave them out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think the love scenes in this chapter are detailed enough to bump the rating up to Mature, but if you think it should be, let me know.

xXx

Jaskier was feeling clearer-headed today. Finally. He was sitting with Marq near the fire. Being sick was annoying and not being able to consummate his new relationship with Geralt yet was even more annoying. But Geralt’s tenderness made up for the inconvenience, for now.

And Jaskier had become the embodiment of some fairy tale tropes, like being Sleeping Beauty, and experiencing true love’s kiss. These were just as much adventures (and song inspiration) as Geralt’s monster hunting.

All of this made Jaskier want to try playing his lute again. Before he could ask Marq to hand it to him, Geralt came back from his walk around the village. Marq, Geralt and Jaskier talked for a little while in front of the fire, then the carpenter left.

Jaskier asked, “Did you have a good walk?”

“Yes. I went and saw Albia. She’s making us wedding shirts that you’ll love.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t hate them.”

“That means you love them!”

“I manage to love you and find you annoying at the same time.”

“And vice is definitely versa, Geralt. I love you too.”

This of course led to Geralt dragging his armchair over closer so they could kiss, which they did for a while. Then Geralt remembered something else.

“Also, I talked to the spirit at the shrine.”

Jaskier was intrigued about what they’d discussed. He looked forward to talking with Ursha himself, to find out just what sort of a being she was (if she was willing to divulge), what she could do, and her own tale, her history and how she had ended up being cursed. Not just for a ballad, but because he was curious. But also definitely for a ballad.

Geralt said, “Ursha said she would give the bride and groom a sacred blessing at their wedding, and it would include ancient wedding vows.”

Jaskier was delighted. “How wonderful for them! It will be great to see.”

Geralt looked into his eyes. “She also offered to do the same for us.”

Jaskier stared at him. The bard could feel his own brain reeling. Which wasn’t a nice thing for a convalescent. True love and a marriage proposal, all within the space of under a week, with the person who’d broken his heart months ago…

Geralt continued, “I’m now over a century old and I’ve never been married. If you will do me the honour, I might as well get married to my soulmate via a love spirit.”

Jaskier looked into eyes that seemed even more golden and glowing than usual. He felt like his own were glowing too. The brief moment of speechlessness vanished. “Of course. Yes. Yes! I accept.”

“Good.” Geralt quirked an eyebrow. “As long as Roach can be maid of honour.”

“For both of us, yes.” Jaskier was glad that he was currently sitting down, otherwise he’d collapse in shock. “Wow… I’ve managed to snare Geralt of Rivia!”

“You wore me down,” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier laughed, and then there was no laughter for a while because they were too busy kissing again. He heard Roach give a snort from the stable section.

In a break in their kissing, Geralt said, “Ursha also said something intriguing about your lute. She recognised that it was from the elves, and from the king himself. She said it has a magic about it. Because you have been playing it from your heart, so to speak, you’re ageing more slowly as a result. You’re tapping into something in it, that it’s sharing with you.”

“So I can keep up with you? Or rather, you can keep up with me!”

Geralt gave a bit of a smirk but Jaskier could tell that underneath it he was relieved that Jaskier’s human lifespan wasn’t as much of an issue anymore. And after they’d let 20 years go by before getting their act together, having bonus time to be together was a wonderful thing. Jaskier was amazed and glad, though in some way he’d also felt he’d instinctively known there was something about the lute the whole time.

This led Jaskier to mull over romance, love, and not long after that to say, “Can you pass me my notebook, please?”

“Got a song idea?”

“I’ll spend my convalescence writing songs for my friends as their wedding gift. Actually, I’d started before the curse, so I just need to keep working on them. Two songs. One a grand declaration about love, and one that’s specifically about them.”

Geralt seemed happy that Jaskier was composing again.

Jaskier resumed playing his lute. At times, there would be a discordant twang and he’d sigh and put the instrument aside and Geralt would hurry over to comfort him and massage his hands. But with each day as he regained his strength, his coordination came back too.

Only temporarily discouraged, Jaskier kept practising the lute. Soon, his fingers were flying on the strings. That made Geralt give a smile as big as the one that Jaskier knew must be on his own face. 

Geralt also massaged Jaskier’s feet, which was appreciated until he reached the ticklish spots.

And all because the realisation of true love had leapfrogged them over a lot of misunderstandings and awkwardness and stopped them wasting any more time, it didn’t mean that they could or should avoid discussing their relationship and its problems. Jaskier was determined that they would talk. And they did.

Geralt was doing his best to talk more, bless him. Asking whether Jaskier wanted to go to the coast when he was strong enough to travel – what a honeymoon – and about Ciri. Geralt had even started reading to him, which Jaskier loved. The sponge baths were a lot of fun too.

Evenings were spent sitting in their armchairs by the fire like an old married couple already. Geralt was doing some wood carving or reading. Or dinners with Albia and Marq. Sometimes Geralt would get this baffled look on his face that he, a Witcher, was actually socialising, making friends, instead of only staying in one place for a day or two before moving on.

Nights were mixed. Jaskier still had nightmares about being a statue and woke up with stiff or numb hands, but the very good news was that Geralt was right there, holding him, reassuring him and not being shy about how he felt.

xXx

Some people had turned up in the village, a mixture of a few mages and opportunists, attracted by the notice about the curse and the reward, assuming they were both still active. There was even a rumour that another Witcher was on his way, but there was no sign of one by the festival wedding day. And the numbness had completely gone from Jaskier’s limbs by then.

It was a fantastic day. Jaskier loved it: the flowers, the joy, how he and Geralt looked in their new outfits, the intimate double ceremony where Albia and Marq became husband and wife, and he and Geralt became husband and husband. Since having a horse in the church wasn’t a good idea, Jaskier and Geralt exchanged their vows out on the steps so Roach could be a part of it. Jaskier had managed time to put a few braids and ribbons in Roach’s mane. 

Jaskier was actually very quiet in the lead up to the ceremony, so much so that Geralt had given him a worried poke in the arm with his finger. It had just all seemed like a dream; a very great one. It was hard to believe it was really happening. He and Geralt had known each other for so many years, but after the ceremony and blessing conducted by the love spirit, things did feel different between them. He felt different. In a very good way. And Geralt had said the vows in a voice full of conviction.

Ursha announced, “My blessing for Albia and Marq is that in two summer’s time they will have a daughter, and they will both live to see her grow up.”

The bride and groom were delighted at this. They endured with good humour jokes from some of the more ribald guests that at least they would have time to catch up on some of their missing years of sex before they were knee deep in nappies.

Ursha had earlier told Jaskier and Geralt that they could consider what they wanted their own special blessing from her to be, and if it was in her power, she would do it. They thanked her and said they would think it over.

Then there was a big lunch for the wedding meal, and afterwards, music, including Jaskier’s song for his friends (the one about love – the one about their own romance he would give to them in private the next day). He was a bit nervous about singing this. The way he’d written the final line, he wanted to draw out one word for about ten seconds, to really pack a punch. It just depended if he was strong enough again for his voice to carry it. He’d been practising. He would see how he felt today, and he could always sing the end normally if he thought there would be a problem. It would work either way. Because Jaskier was clever like that. And he had to save some of his voice for his wedding gift to Geralt.

_Love, love changes everything  
Hands and faces, earth and sky  
Love, love changes everything  
How you live and how you die  
Love, can make the summer fly  
Or a night seem like a lifetime  
Yes love, love changes everything  
Now I tremble at your name  
Nothing in the world will ever be the same_

He kept singing the verses and could tell it was going down well. Then he reached the final lines.

_Yes love, love changes everyone  
Live or perish in its flame  
Love will never never let you be the same  
Love will never never let you be the same_

Jaskier managed to hold the long note of the final ‘same’ without embarrassing himself. He needed a good drink after it though, which Geralt made sure he got. Then he had some recovery time while the other musicians carried on.

Then Jaskier took centre stage again. “I also wrote a song for Geralt. Though it was hard to find a chance to practise it! Since he was being such a devoted boyfriend and caregiver that he found it hard to leave my side…” At least it didn’t have any long drawn-out notes in it. And it was a song that was more personalised, as Geralt would see.

_It's amazing how you  
Can speak right to my heart  
Without saying a word  
You can light up the dark  
Try as I may I could never explain  
What I hear when you don't say a thing_

Geralt had that really glowy-eyed look on his face again; the one where he was deeply moved.

_The smile on your face lets me know that you need me  
There's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me  
The touch of your hand says you'll catch me wherever I fall  
You say it best  
When you say nothing at all_

Jaskier had seen a flash of pain on his husband’s face at the ‘you’ll never leave me’, but they both knew that the past was past, and he wouldn’t do that again or force Jaskier to leave.

Geralt loved the rest of the song. “After that, I’ll even try to dance with you,” the Witcher said in even more of a sexy rumble than usual. “Just as long as we stay on the edge of the dancefloor and keep it simple.”

Eventually, Geralt and Jaskier went back to their cottage. As they walked along with Roach, Geralt said, “If you’re tired and want a nap, that’s fine. I’ve waited this long - I can wait a few more hours.” He squeezed Jaskier’s hand. “Husband.”

Jaskier knew that was sensible. But they had just been married! It was their wedding day! They should be able to have sex, damn it.

They put Roach in the yard and opened up the byre door for her to get into the stable when she wanted.

Jaskier went to go through the byre to reach the cottage, but Geralt said, “No, let’s go the other way instead.”

His husband was up to something, Jaskier could tell.

As they approached the cottage door, Geralt went first, holding out a hand to make Jaskier wait. He unlocked and opened the door, then said, “When I carried you over the threshold the first time, you were asleep.”

This time, the Jaskier that he picked up was definitely awake, but tired. Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes. “My hero!”

When they were inside, Geralt carefully set Jaskier down, though the process involved them both rubbing against each other. Geralt shut and locked the door, then kissed his waiting husband, looked deeply into his eyes and intoned the romantic words: “You need a nap.”

Oh, the irony. Jaskier was annoyed, horny and tired, blast it. Not a good combination. But he wasn’t going to admit that. “I need a -”

“Sleep. Then you’ll have plenty of energy and not fall asleep when I’m kissing every inch of your body. That could be damaging to my fragile ego.”

Jaskier sighed and pouted. “It’s not fair.”

“I know. But we’ll make up for it very soon. Come on, I’ll tuck you in.”

Gently, Geralt undressed Jaskier down to his small clothes, then settled him in to the bed.

“Join me?”

“I will soon. I’ll just start the fire and make sure Roach is all right.”

Just as his devious, plotting husband had probably hoped, Jaskier fell asleep while Geralt was doing those tasks.

xXx

When Jaskier woke up, Geralt was in bed with him, spooning him from behind and the bard noticed that the swing doors to the stables were all closed. He assumed that Geralt had kept them shut because he didn’t want his horse staring at them or making noises during their sexual shenanigans.

There was consummation to be had. And Jaskier very much wanted (and deserved) that. Consummation. He wanted Geralt to consume him.

“Husband,” Jaskier said.

“Husband…” Geralt echoed.

“I’m awake.”

“So I can see. And feel.”

Some wriggling was occurring on both sides. Geralt was naked. A certain part of Jaskier’s anatomy was definitely awake. He moaned as his husband indulged in some fondling of Jaskier’s small clothes area.

Geralt remarked, “It feels like you’ve got a lot of bread stashed away in here. Which is excellent, because I’m very hungry…”

Jaskier made some very enthusiastic noises. Then he laughed. “Can you believe that we actually managed to wait until after our marriage?”

“No. And that’s after _quite_ a weird life.”

Geralt pushed down the blankets, then flipped Jaskier over onto his front, much to Jaskier’s surprise, and pulled down his small clothes to unveil his arse. He stripped the material right off and tossed it aside. “That idiotic nobleman back in Cintra must have had the wrong person. Your arse isn’t spotty at all. It’s a work of art.”

Jaskier yelped as Geralt’s teeth nipped and then sucked his bottom.

“I’ll have to rub some chamomile on that later…”

“You’d better!”

Geralt’s hands left his rear and slid down his thighs. Jaskier parted his legs and rocked against the mattress, panting. Geralt then turned Jaskier back over, more gently this time, which was good because otherwise he might have gotten dizzy.

Then they were in a full body embrace, naked, and OH that was _very_ fine indeed. They kissed and moved against each other with delicious friction. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck. He wanted him closer, closer. Geralt was on top of him, pressing him down. Jaskier was fine with letting Geralt do all the work for this round. They were both getting the benefits.

Ironically, their lovemaking was making Jaskier incoherent with pleasure, momentarily stunned by how overwhelming it was, while Geralt was being very vocal and verbal as they thrust against each other.

They didn’t get up to anything complicated and they’d waited too long to last long. But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t incredibly intense and well worth that wait.

Jaskier vaguely noticed when Geralt cleaned them up, then got back into bed and wrapped himself around Jaskier, pulling the blankets back over them.

xXx

Geralt didn’t have to rub Jaskier’s hands for medical reasons anymore, but he still did it, then kissed the fingers, then started to suck on them. Which of course led to other explorations.

“Something seems very rock-hard here,” Geralt said, his fingers wrapping around the appendage in question.

All of Jaskier’s verbal magic deserted him again and he let out some very babbling moans and exclamations instead.

“Hmmm. With the way that feels, I’ll need to give it true love’s kiss to restore it to normal…”

With that announcement, Geralt proceeded to kiss his way from Jaskier’s mouth down to his crotch. It was a blazing hot trail and the Witcher’s lips, teeth and tongue didn’t deviate from the path, though his hands strayed further afield along the way, sliding over nipples, torso and thighs. Then he took Jaskier’s cock in his mouth, and all remaining rational thought fled.

That mouth…

As the bard had hoped, Geralt did indeed consume Jaskier, leaving him feeling fantastically turned inside-out. And during that session, Jaskier recovered his vocal talents to let Geralt know how he was making him feel. Which was quite a lot.

xXx

It was still honeymoon time. Geralt had lived up to his promise of all-over kissing. Yesterday, Jaskier had Geralt inside him for the first time (and it was an event that Jaskier fully intended to celebrate the anniversary of each year – echoes of his lustful, orgasmic yelling would probably still be bouncing around the corners of the Continent by then), and today Jaskier had returned the favour. Or pleasure, as it was.

They were sprawled in bed together, utterly decadent and in need of a bath (which would probably then set off another sex session – in fact, they hadn’t tried water sex yet… Just as long as they didn’t soak the floorboards here).

Then Jaskier said, “Geralt, about Ursha’s blessing. There are a lot of things we could ask for. Though at least we already have a longer lifespan for me. I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

He’d gotten the idea after the blessing for Albia and Marq. “Can we ask her if she can help Yennefer? About having a child?”

“We can. See what she says.”

Jaskier could see a rush of affection coming from Geralt, like he was proud of Jaskier for making such a selfless suggestion. The two of them had talked about Yennefer – Geralt had said she was close to breaking the djinn’s wish. Good. One less complication.

The Witcher continued, “Though I think that Cirilla will also be an answer to that desire. I have a feeling about it. Our child. And Yen’s too. We’ll share Ciri.”

“Quite a family.” And Jaskier had a feeling it would be just the family that Ciri would need, and that they and Yennefer would need. An unconventional family for these unconventional times. But no less strong for that.

Jaskier dozed a little, and found himself imagining a portal opening and Yennefer stepping through to find him and Geralt naked in bed – and not seeming all that surprised about it. He imagined himself greeting her: _Hello, Yennefer. Have you come to tell us that you’ve broken the wish? That would be an excellent honeymoon gift. And we might have a gift for you as well…_

He had a feeling that daydream would come true soon, in some form.

In another week, Jaskier and Geralt would head to the nearest coast. The sun and salt air would put the colour back on Jaskier’s cheeks (though a session in bed with Geralt did the same – for both sets of cheeks…) Then they would go and visit Ciri.

Jaskier had spent a month as a living statue due to the curse, but now, here in Geralt’s arms, with their future spread in front of them, he’d never felt more alive.

xXx

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta reader is having a hectic time in real life, so this last chapter hasn’t been checked. When it has, I will come back and tweak where necessary. 
> 
> Chapter 1’s ‘I’m not bald; I’m taller than my hair’ comment is from an Ancient Roman called Seneca.
> 
> The ‘produces vibrations’ comment in Chapter 3 is a quote from Oscar Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Earnest” play.
> 
> The songs “Love Changes Everything” and “When You Say Nothing At All” are of course not by Jaskier or by me. I couldn’t resist using the latter song to describe Geralt. 
> 
> Some of the lines in Chapter 2’s ‘true love’s kiss’ scene I pinched from myself, from a Primeval Nick/Stephen fic I wrote years ago under a different name on LiveJournal.
> 
> If you do want a fic where Roach does get to watch Jaskier and Geralt having sex, I wrote a fic from the horse’s POV, also set after ep 1.06, which is a standalone AU called RappROACHement.


End file.
